Romancing Animosity
by AsphodelRegrets
Summary: Three Gryffindors inexplicably fall for the dubious charms of three Slytherins . . . or is it the other way 'round? Three different "Slythindor" pairings, one plot. Next generation. One of the pairings is yuri, so don't read if it's not your cup of tea. T for language.
1. Start

Rose looked up from her cauldron to meet a pair of silver eyes. Malfoy was staring. _Again._ Already flushed from the steam rising off her near-perfect potion, she went an even deeper shade of pink.

He had been acting very odd lately. After enduring five and a half years of Malfoy's merciless teasing and insults, it was almost as if he fancied her or something. She shredded the dandelion roots under her knife with renewed fervor, not sure how she felt about that possibility. On the one hand, he was a petulant little git who probably didn't deserve more attention than a few witty retorts and possibly a slap. On the other hand . . . well . . . the bastard was _cute_. Silver-blond hair worn slightly long, high cheekbones, slim-yet-muscular frame, and those damn lucid grey eyes that he was fixing on her _again_! That was really the last straw. Rose got up and marched over to his cauldron on the other side of the room. To her further chagrin, he was sharing a table (as usual) with her cousin, Dominique, who looked up in apparent amusement.

"Hey, Rosie," she said.

"Um, hey, Dominique," her cousin replied perfunctorily before addressing the real issue. "Oi Malfoy!"

He made a great show of putting down the knife that he had been using to cut roots. "What?"

"Were you staring at me just now?"

His eyes narrowed slightly. Apparently he was weighing his response.

"Just now? I think _you_ were staring at _me_. Got a crush, Weasley?"

Dominique snickered. Rose shot her a dirty look.

"I was not, and I defnitely _do not_!"

"Ever the righteous Gryffindor," put in Dominique, earning herself another glare.

"You were staring at me first. And a few minutes ago, and again at the beginning of class."

"You're right. I . . . I have a confession to make." Malfoy leaned his head back on his hands and gazed seriously into Rose's eyes. "I stare at you because . . . your face . . . it's just so damn _ugly_."

Dominique burst out in a fit of giggling. Rose's face went a scarlet to nearly match her hair.

"It's your dreadful speckled mug," continued Malfoy, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're like a train wreck, and I just can't look away. Run along and play with your chemistry set, and don't even flatter yourself in your wildest dreams that I fancy you."

Rose wanted to pummel him right then and there, but revenge was best served cold. She gave him a parting look that promised all the vengeance she was itching to exact on his pretty face, and flounced back to her own cauldron.

* * *

Albus looked up with some apprehension as Rose returned. Her face was brilliantly red, and her arms were stiff as boards by her sides.

"Malfoy problems?" he asked. It was an affliction well-known to all Gryffindors in their year, as well as any younger student who wasn't in Slytherin.

"Oh, yes," she said.

When she didn't offer a further explanation, Albus went back to stirring his almost-completed potion.

"Oh, dammit, I let it simmer too long," she mumbled, in regard to the now rather sticky contents of her cauldron. "Far too late to start again . . . maybe if I add . . ."

They worked in silence for a few minutes. Albus was happy with his potion. It was far from perfect, but it was finished, and he thought it might be quality enough to merit an Acceptable.

"Do you think the rumors are true?" Rose blurted suddenly.

"What?" Albus was almost startled into dropping the flask of his completed work.

"About Dominique. Do you really think she and Malfoy are, like, dating?"

"No," he said, rather too quickly. "I mean, Nicky wouldn't, would she? She's too good for him."

"True enough, I guess. But they're practically inseperable."

Albus smiled. "That's just it, isn't it?"

"What?"

"They're inseperable, like _best friends_. Not lovers. Besides, can you really see Malfoy treating his hypothetical girlfriend with the respect that he treats Nicky? It would be all squabbling and insults, with some intemittent PDA, am I right?"

Rose chuckled. "You are so right!"

Albus squinted suspiciously at her. "Er, Rose?"

"Yes?" she said, ladling her own superior potion into a flask.

"You wouldn't, by any far-fetched chance, want to be the girl that experiences the squabbling and PDA with Malfoy? Just checking."

"Ugh, why would you think _that_?" she asked, rolling her eyes. "He's like a blister on my heel. A really persistent, festering blister that spits constant insults."

Albus felt a little bile rise in his throat at the description. "Um. I hope you don't actually have a literal blister anything like that."

She laughed. "No!"

"Okay, so _no_ on both counts?"

"Affirmative," she said as they and the rest of the class surged forward to turn in their sample flasks.

"Glad to hear it."

* * *

Scorpius couldn't help staring after Rose with a touch of longing. Her vividly orange hair had the most adorable tendency to frizz in the stream from the Potions classroom, and she got this intense fire in her brown eyes when she was angry . . . especially when she was angry at _him_ . . .

"Ooh la la, weasel got your tongue? Or should I say, weasel-_ette_?" said Nicky as they left the classroom.

"I don't think you get to poke fun at your own name. Eh, Weaselette?" he shot back.

"This is the problem," she said, adjusting her wire-frame glasses with a scholarly air. "To her face, it's nonstop sassy remarks and general asshattery, and then when she's not around, you defend her valiantly.

"What, defend? Who am I defending?" he sputtered.

"I'm not going to dignify that with a response, Moon Eyes," Nicky sniffed.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Mm-hm."

"What, Rose? That snub-nosed little snobbish Gryffindor isn't attractive to me in the least."

"Right. And Hagrid is interested in a haircut."

"This isn't funny! You are insulting my excellent and discriminating taste in women."

"Careful what you say about my cousin, Malfoy."

"Whatever."

"I agree completely."

"You're just talking nonsense now."

"Perhaps, perhaps."

"I really don't fancy her."

"Yes, and Victrola Petracca is fond of shampoo."

* * *

It was time for lunch, and Victrola again found herself working against the tide of hungry students and making her way down to the dungeons. Her gastric area protested loudly, as she had skipped breakfast too, but her thin, sinewy body generally didn't require much sustenance. What she required was Slughorn's favor, if she wanted the job she was after.

"Good afternoon, sir," she greeted her elderly professor. He flinched in surprise.

"Merlin's beard, Miss Petracca! You startled me." He chuckled perfunctorily. "It's my - I mean everyone's - lunch break! Why aren't you in the Great Hall? I was just on my way there myself."

"Professor Slughorn, I was wondering if you needed any help cleaning up after the lesson. I know those sixth years can be a bit of a pain," she said significantly, nodding to a particularly nasty spilled mess in the corner.

His eyes followed hers. "You're quite right, of course. I was going to have the students in detention clean it . . . but my afternoon classes . . ." The old man looked wistfully at the door.

"You go on and have lunch, sir. I can clean this up for you."

His face brightened. "Really? Why, Miss Petracca, that would be exceptionally kind. I have to admit, I may have underestimated your ambition."

She had to play along. "Ambition?"

"Well, call me an old fool, but I never invited you to the Slug Club because you lacked that certain spark I like to see in a student. Though, of course, you've done brilliant work all six and a half years in my class!" He chuckled again, more warmly. "But this year, I see a new potential that's very promising. I'd keep an eye out for a certain violet-ribboned invitation, if I were you!"

Victrola widened her eyes in what she assumed was the proper mode of surprise and gratitude. "Thank you, sir! I never expected I might get into the Slug Club, though of course I hoped."

He smiled genially and edged toward the door.

"This is really very kind of you - Victoria?"

"Victrola, sir."

"Ah, yes, Victrola. A very memorable name, that. Good afternoon!"

Alone in the classroom at last, Victrola went straight to the supply cupboard to browse around. She really _had_ come to do a favor for Slughorn, but being unattended in the Potions room had added benefits.

There was nothing of special interest that wasn't out of reach in Slughorn's private store. A simple _Alohamora_ almost certainly wouldn't work and just might set off some sort of ward, so she contended herself with filching some extra saltpetre and a few bezoars. Always useful, and unlikely to be missed.

The mysterious floor stain was easily eradicated with a Scouring Spell, leaving the rest of the lunch period free for a brief sojourn in the library.

* * *

Ruby Kumar stifled another giggle. She and her best friend, Annabelle Brown, had taken to frequenting the library in the hope that Annabelle would finally catch the eye of her crush. It was _hilarious_.

The two girls were hiding behind their copies of _Unfogging the Future_ in the sunniest corner of the library. Mark Davies, the handsome Ravenclaw Seeker, was browsing the Astronomy section nearby. It was rather a transparent disguise, considering all the whispering and giggling and glancing at Davies, but the man himself seemed blissfully oblivious. Ruby rather suspected he wasn't very observant. Either he was completely immersed in finding the perfect book, or he wasn't too bright.

An intimidating seventh-year Slytherin slouched by, her gaze shooting daggers in their direction.

"_What a weirdo_," whispered Annabelle.

"_That's Petracca. I heard she only showers once every two weeks, and never uses shampoo_."

"_Gross!"_

This sent the two girls into a giggling spell that only ended when another boy approached Davies.

"_Ooh, he's cute!_" said Annabelle.

"_I thought you liked Davies_," whispered Ruby, her brow furrowing slightly.

"_Davies is mega-hot, but his friend is too. He would be so perfect for you, Rube!_"

His face looked familiar. Ruby tried to place where she had seen him. "_Isn't that Zach Smith? The Ravenclaw Keeper_?"

Inexplicably, Annabelle started giggling again. "_He's looking this way, he's looking this way!_"

True enough, the sandy-haired boy was indeed looking in their direction, and soon approached them.

"Hey . . . Ruby, right?"

"Um, yeah, hi," she said. Ruby was grateful that she was too dark to blush. Annabelle smiled her most winning smile.

"I'm Zach," he introduced himself. He looked as if he was about to extend his hand, but thought better of it and started swinging his limp arm instead. "So, Ruby, do you want to um, I was wondering if . . . I mean, we don't know each other, but, er . . ."

She was getting a little impatient. "Next Hogsmeade weekend?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Like, yeah! Great! I'll pick you up in the Great Hall next Hogsmeade weekend, then?"

She smiled back. "Yes. Sounds great."

"Cool."

He stood there for a moment, then nodded once and walked away.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Annabelle squealed and threw her arms around Ruby. "You got a date with Zack McYummy! You go, girl!"

Ruby hugged her friend back. "I did, didn't I!"

"Isn't he just the cutest?"

Ruby thought it rather rude that he had asked her out before even knowing her, and it was extrmemly rude to just ignore Annabelle completely.

"Total cutest."

* * *

AN: To clarify:

Canon characters-

Rose Weasley

Albus Potter

Scorpius Malfoy

JKR's noncanon characters-

Dominique "Nicky" Weasley

Original characters-

Victrola Petracca

Annabelle Brown (Lavender Brown's niece)

Ruby Kumar

etc


	2. Pygmalion

Valentine's Day was fast approaching, which, for the older students, meant constant drama. Victrola would be glad to have nothing to do with the whole messy affair, but she had discovered a deliciously lucrative side line. The Weasley Wizard Wheezes love potions and related products were selling like mad this time of year, of course. Victrola had spent some time experimenting and had developed her own line of stronger products, and offered them at a dramatically cheaper price. Now, by February thirteenth, a steady trickle of students somehow found their way to her spot on the school grounds. They were sly and furtive, seemingly under the impression that they were purchasing illegal materials of the wickedest calibre. Victrola wanted to laugh in their faces. Sure, she would be in very hot water if caught, but if she wanted to get in trouble . . . well. There were darker forms of magic, anyway.

The whole Potions thing was a drag, anyway. Brewing strong-smelling liquids in the Room of Requirement until her thick hair stuck to her neck with sweat, it was hellish. It payed well, though, and the money would tide her over while she finished her studies. The other students would buy anything from her. Dreamless Sleep, Blemish Blitzer, Calming Draught, Beautification. Something a mite stronger than Pepperup. Dogbreath for enemies. Amortentia for reluctant lovers. Valentine's season was second only to the week before exams, as far as sales went.

Victrola thought she had sold to pretty much everyone fourth year and up, directly or indirectly. The faces tended to blur together. Still, she was unprepared to see Harry Potter's son, appearing angelic to any and all witnesses, make the trek to her spot under a trailing willow.

"Er - hello. You're Petracca, right?"

She leaned back against the tree trunk, taking him in and nibbling unconsciously on the end of her wand. Untidy black hair. Harry Potter's green eyes, sans glasses. Narrow mouth, slightly pursed in self-conscious confusion. Faint smattering of freckles across the nose and cheekbones. Small body, wiry yet strong.

"I am. You must be the Potter boy."

He blinked rapidly. "I was told you usually do business anonymously."

She rolled her eyes. "Come off it, I'm selling enchanted juice, not crack."

He laughed suddenly, his entire face lighting up. "You're right. Er, sorry if I was pretentious. I'm Albus." He extended a hand.

Victrola took it, not bothering to get off the ground. WIth a slight tug at his wrist, she made him sit next to her on the grass.

"Middle name?"

"Severus. Why?"

"Interesting," she murmured. "Like Severus Snape?"

"Yes, exactly. He was my parents' teacher."

"He taught a lot of people. You know, he's my blood relative."

"Oh! How are you related?"

"Dunno exactly." She waved her wand in a vague sort of way, accidentally knocking off some of the tree's leaves. "Second cousin, third uncle, or something. Apparently I take after him."

"I believe it," the boy muttered.

Feeling a quick surge of animosity, Victrola stowed her wand and started rummaging through her bag.

"So, first-time buyer, yes? I'm guessing you didn't come here to browse."

"Got that right. I'm looking for a love potion, something really strong, you know?"

Victrola gave him a once-over. "Don't seem to need it, luv."

He blushed. "Oh, it's not for me," he stammered. "Or a girl, or anything. It's actually a prank."

Victrola leaned forward over her knees, her dark eyes glittering. "Brilliant! No one's come to me with that idea before. Oh, this is too good. Who's the chosen victim? Wait, if you tell me it's some girl who rejected you, I won't sell."

"No, not all. It's - promise you won't spoil it?"

"I swear on my father's guitar."

"Scorpius Malfoy."

She smiled in delight. "Too good, this is too good! Brilliant idea, the little bugger _so_ deserves it."

"I know! Wait, you know him?"

"Mm. I know that he's a naive rich boy who gets off on bullying younger kids. What else is there to know?"

"He's bloody awful to my cousin. Acts like he fancies her one minute, then -"

"Insults her." She pulled out a dark red bell-shaped bottle the size of a key and handed it to Albus. "Strongest stuff I have. Since I hate Malfoy and you're named after my cousin, I'll give it to you for free. Incidentally, who is Malfoy going to fall in love with? You'll need to add a bit of her hair or something."

Albus grinned wickedly. "I was thinking of a Pygmalion sort of scenario."

* * *

"Pygmalion. It's a Muggle story," explained Rose. Her latest etxracurricular scholarly pursuit was ancient Greek mythology. "A sculptor feels himself superior to all the women where he lives, so he makes a statue of a beautiful woman out of stone. He falls in love with it, it's quite creepy. Then at the end, Aphrodite turns the statue into a real woman and Pygmalion marries her."

"How interesting," said Lily, edging surreptitiously towards the exit of the Common Room. "Rosie, I'd love to stay and chat, but Lysander absolutely promised to show me how to make a miniature fountain in the Great Lake."

"Oh, okay. Have a nice time."

Rose was well aware that her littlest cousin wasn't interested in the Pygmalion story. Sttill, it was terribly interesting from a feminist perspective, and she was dying for someone to discuss it with. Albus had seemed genuinely interested, but had promptly dashed off on some mystery "errand" that was probably fabricated.

She couldn't help thinking that she was being the tiniest bit pathetic. Usually she wasn't nearly as keen to talk about whatever she was reading. People weren't interested, so she happily read alone, or sought out Hugo if it was a topic that merited debate. Was she perhaps distracting herself because she was going to be alone on Valentine's?

She didn't have to be _literally_ alone, but she was young, and frankly she was starting to crave a bit of romance in her life. Maybe even a little drama. Despite what she had told Albus, a teeny tiny indulgent part of herself had rather wanted Malfoy to make a move, if only for the satisfaction of turning him down. It would be something to think of, anyways.

Rose mentally slapped herself. She was so desperate, she was actually considering Malfoy?!

It was then that Rose Weasley decided she was _not_ going to be alone on Valentine's.

She had lots of acquiantances in Gryffindor who would probably be glad to take her out to Hogsmeade tomorrow, but she was feeling capricious. She wanted someone really cute, preferably from another House.

Someone like Mark Davies, the seventh-year Ravenclaw Seeker. He had flirted a bit with Rose, the Gryffindor Seeker, after matches. From what she had heard, he was single. Davies would be the perfect arm candy for the Hogsmeade trip, if he hadn't already asked someone. Rose would seek him out at the Quidditch pitch. It would be a good opportunity to get in some flying practice, either way.

* * *

Ruby tried to warm her icy hands by rubbing them together, to no avail. Annabelle had concocted the brilliant scheme of watching the Ravenclaw Quidditch team practice, and they were sitting alone in the bleachers. Wanting to look cute in front of Zach, her date for Hogsmeade the next day (Valentine's Day!), she had opted for a red silk headband to pull back her short, soft black curls instead of her usual fleecy hat-and-scarf. Her face was achingly cold. She wanted nothing more than to retreat to her dorm and curl up with _Jane Eyre_, but she couldn't just ditch Annabelle, and besides which Zach kept hopefully looking in her direction whenever he made a particularly skillful save. It felt nice, having someone try to impress her, even though she didn't really understand the appeal of his floppy sand-colored hair and vaugely ferretlike face. She clapped enthusiastically for him, trying to get the blood circulating back to her fingertips.

Rose Weasley walked onto the pitch with her broom over one shoulder. She waved a quick greeting to the two girls in the stands.

"Hi!" called Ruby, hoping that she would come talk to them before flying. She did not, but kicked off immediately. Almost as quickly, Davies dropped to hover next to her.

"What's he saying?" asked Annabelle with a strain of urgency, craning her neck.

"Maybe telling her off for flying during their practice?" said Ruby. "They are rivals, after all."

But Davies did not seem to telling her off. Rather, she laughed audibly at something he said and gave a reply.

Annabelle gasped. "They're leaving the pitch together! You don't think they're going out, do you?"

Ruby had no reply, especially when Davies nudged Rose's shoulder in a playful manner.

"This is just too awful," groaned Annabelle. "I'm going to go back to the castle, eat loads of chocolate, maybe sing some heartbreak music. You in?"

Ruby hid a smile behind her hand. Annabelle 'fell in like' quickly and often, usually with Quidditch players, and got over them remarkably fast. She generally thought it was good to put on a face of heartbreak for a few hours, if only to show the proper respect for her rotating cast of crushes.

"Totally." Ruby hopped gratefully off the bleachers and was on the point of following her friend when another boy dropped from the sky.

"Um, leaving already?"

"Oh, hey, Zach," said Ruby. "Yes, we're getting pretty cold."

She hadn't meant it as a flirtatious comment, but Zach gallantly put an arm around her shoulders.

"Feeling warmer, babe?" he said, with more than a touch of awkward bravado. The other players, their practice halted without a Seeker and a Keeper, started clapping mockingly.

"You go, Smith!" called some smartass.

Ruby felt her face heat up and was, for the second time in three days, immensely grateful that she was too dark to blush. She felt paralyzed, too self-conscious to push him away. It was highly unpleasant, being crushed against a sweaty, smelly male.

Annabelle coughed, breaking the moment. Ruby gently shrugged off Zach.

"Haha, very cute. Seriously, we're going back inside."

His hurt-puppy expression sent a twinge of guilt through Ruby, and she decided to do damage control by smiling coyly. "Nice flying, by the way. You looked great up there . . . babe."

If she had been feeling bolder (and maybe slightly less disgusted), she might have pressed a kiss to his cheek, but as it was she and Annabelle made a hasty retreat.

"You two are the cutest!" said Annabelle.

"Are we?" asked Ruby distractedly.

"Total cutest. You are _such_ a great couple. He's all awkward, and you're totally sweet."

"Really?" she said, taken aback by this perception.

"Um, yeah. I meant," Annabelle backtracked, "he's, like, cute-awkward, like he likes you but doesn't know how to express it that well."

"I thought he was just being thick," said Ruby offhandedly.

"No, he's a Ravenclaw, right? He has to be pretty smart. I bet he's, like, book-smart, but awkward around cute girls," explained Annabelle.

"You can sense all that?" marvelled Ruby. Annabelle shrugged, smiling shyly.

"I notice things . . . especially things about cute Quidditch players! Oh, don't worry Rube, I would never steal your man," she said.

"As if I would let you!" joked Ruby, feeling more jovial now that reading _Jane Eyre_ next to the fire was an immediate possibility.

* * *

Albus woke early on the morning of February fourteenth, keen to put his devious plan into action.

He had asked Petracca some follow-up questions about the mechanics of her custom potion, and apparently it could work with inanimate objects as well as humans. He just needed a bit of the object Malfoy was to fall in love with.

Petracca was . . . intense, in a way that Albus found scary and a tiny bit appealing. He would _not_ want to be on the receiving end of her revenge, but having her on his side was exhilarating. Was this the power rush that James got when he planned a prank? It was delicious, and dangerously addictive.

As he reached the statue of Helga Hufflepuff - which stood meditatively in the alcove near the Muggle Studies classroom - Albus paused. Malfoy was a pretentious little prick, yes, but did he deserve this?

In the time leading up to Quidditch matches, when rival teams would try to intimidate, mess with, and even threaten the petite Gryffindor, she was cool and uncaring, outright laughing in their faces sometimes. Marie Zabini's snide comments about her bushy masses of red hair and flat chest never bothered her. And yet when Malfoy found some new words to throw at Rose, she was hurt every. Single. Time. Albus never failed to notice the pain in her expressive brown eyes, and it cut at him. Deep down, she must really care something for the blonde bastard, and let it really bother her when he attacked her.

Oh, yes, he deserved every bit of this. Albus determinedly scraped a small pile of stone flakes from the statue with his fingernail, then tipped the fine grey powder into the little red bottle. It flashed gold for an instant, then was dark again. He replaced the stopper and went to the Great Hall to join the others for breakfast. He and Petracca had it pre-arranged. She would create some distraction at the Slytherin table, and his hand would slip over Malfoy's goblet.

* * *

Nicky set off down the corridor at a trot. Scorpius was behaving _very_ oddly. He had said some incoherent things at breakfast, then practically sprinted out of the room.

He was out of sight, and she had no idea where he was going. She broke into a run.

After five minutes of Scorpius-free running, Nicky stopped. She was winded, disoriented, and cross. She had been planning to enjoy St. V's Day by going down to Hogsmeade with the rest of the school. There, she and Scorpius were supposed to get a few Butterbeers at the Hog's Head and party it up like true singles, but now he had sent her off on some wild goose chase. Probably some idiot had slipped him a potion.

The portraits were muttering judgemental remarks. She turned to an oil painting of a young woman with an equally long-faced horse.

"Have - have you seen a boy run past here? Blond, really fit, with sort of a stupid face?"

The painting tittered. "Running after a boy, on Valentine's Day? There are better ways to catch a man, dearie."

Nicky was on the point of formulating a retort about the painting not knowing what she was talking of, having never gotten any man action in the century or so she had been in existence, but it was pointless.

"He's just my friend. Please, he might be in real trouble."

The painting made a _tut_ noise. "Yes, alright, he went past here a few minutes ago. There aren't going to be any more young people dashing by here, are there? Because Lancelot here gets very startled."

In the time it took her to figure out the painting was talking about her horse, Nicky was running again and had already turned the corner.

She finally caught him, in some obscure part of the castle near the Muggle Studies classroom.

"Ugh, _mon dieu_, you're fast for such a skinny little bastard. Guess it's all the Quidditch. How long were you planning on running, eh?" she panted, leaning against the wall. "You didn't even take the most exact route, this walk only takes a few minutes if you just cut across that one courtyard."

Socrpius turned around, a mad light shining in his grey eyes. "A faster route? I wasted such time! Anything to get to you faster, my loveliest treasure."

"Whaaa . . . ?"

Scorpius turned around again and began lightly carressing the face of _the statue_.

"Oh, my dear, dear, sweet Helga. Why did I never before notice your beauty? Well, I had never seen you 'till today, but . . . years were wasted, my sweet! We could have had so much more time together, but now we can have forever . . . I was drawn magnetized to you, and now our bond will never break." He rubbed his face against the stone. "Our own little paradise, right here. I will never leave you, light of my life."

Nicky felt physically ill. "You are fucking insane," she spat.

Scorpius didn't notice her, he was so intent on gradually working his fingers around the statue's substantial waist.

"It's okay, kitten whisper. You are the most special thing in my life. I'm so lucky to have you, baby." He kissed its cheek, its forhead, finally its unmoving rock mouth. "Helga . . ."

"Scorpius! Scor?!" He hated it when she called him Scor, and still he didn't respond. His tongue was on the statue. Fighting down a second wave of nausea, Nicky continued her efforts to get his attention. "MALFOY!"

He left off licking Helga Hufflepuff, at least.

Losing what little patience she had retained, Nicky wrapped arms around his torso and pulled his away.

"MALFOY! Listen to me! You! Are! Insane!"

He was far stronger than her and wrestled her off easily. The demonic glint was still dominating his eyes. "Nicky, I think I'm in love!" He laughed madly, throwing her off him, and embraced the Hufflepuff statue again, murmuring sweet nothings to it.

Nicky shook her head. "I need help."

It took her some time to track down the slimy weirdo called Petracca, but she did it.

"It's a love potion, and a really, really, strong one at that. You probably sold it," she said with a significant note of accusation, "so you have to be able to fix this."

"Sure. Who's the lucky . . . oh." They rounded the corner, and the seventh year smirked when she saw Scorpius making out with the statue.

"Yes, I am familiar with this particular potion."

"Did you sell it?" demmanded Nicky. She wanted revenge on whoever had given it to him.

"Maybe," she said, shrugging one slouching shoulder.

Nicky could have strangled her right there if she wasn't Scorpius's only hope of an antidote.

"Can you cure him, or not?"

The other girl's dark eyes flashed. "Of course I can, do I look like an amateur? I even have the stuff on me, everyone's going to be dying for an antidote today . . . I can't work with an audience, though. Clear off." She waved her hand dismissively.

"What? I'm not just leaving him!"

"If you're his girlfriend, I really couldn't care less. Sod off."

"We're not dating."

"I repeat: I couldn't care less. Leave, _now_. Go trot around Hogsmeade or something."

Reluctant to argue with the only person at Hogwarts who could her best friend's mad obsession, Nicky rolled her eyes pointedly, muttered something about perverts under her breath, and left.

* * *

Victrola had no intention whatsoever of curing the Malfoy git - not right away, at least. Potter had chosen a rather out-of-sight area of the castle, but this humiliating spectacle deserved some attention.


	3. A Little Vengeance

Ruby tried to keep her eyes from glazing over as Zach continued to discuss Quidditch. She had made an honest effort to do what Annabelle did when she got stuck talking to a guy about sports: make eye contact, smile flirtatiously, give an occasional nod. It all felt very fake, though, so she had resorted to propping her chin on one hand and _not falling asleep_!

She consoled herself by going over the rest of the (wonderful?) date in her mind. She was wearing her prettiest dress - a violet-colored empire-waist creation. Unfortunately it only reached her knees, so she had accessorized functionally with thick black tights and her black winter cloak. In a Scottish February, there was no choice for footwear but her regular old winter boots. She had curled her hair, as always, and added a glittering butterfly hairclip for some sparkle.

Zach had picked her up in the Great Hall that morning, complimenting her appropriately. They walked down to Hogsmeade together and he had held her hand. Ruby supposed that, empirically speaking, it was a sweet gesture. They were both gloved, though, so there wasn't really a point. It was actually quite awkward. People kept giving them funny looks.

Madame Pudifoot's, coveted as the ideal date location by all the wistful single ladies of Hogwarts, was very . . . pink. Not that there was anything wrong with pink. Pink was a perfectly lovely color, in Ruby's opinion, and one that looked pretty on her. It was overwhelming in such high doses, though. She could still see why people liked this place, especially in winter. It was wonderfully _warm_ and the tea was decent.

Zach had been quite charming. That is, until the waitress brought the second round of tea and he started lapsing into Quidditch Talk.

"And then, he just crashed into the goal post! Boom!" He looked to Ruby for an affirmative reaction, so she gasped appreciatively.

_Why do guys feel like they need to talk Quidditch with their girlfriends?_ Ruby wondered, idly crushing a sugar cube with her spoon. _Zach could just talk to one of his teammates . . ._ She looked over at the next table, where Mark Davies and Rose Weasley were sitting. Some couples were making out and it was gross, but not Rose and Davies. They were just talking, and seemingly having a great time. The way Rose was gesticulating, Ruby strongly suspected that they, too, were doing Quidditch Talk, and enjoying it. Because they were both, well, _Quidditch players_.

Ruby couldn't help smirking when she noticed that Rose was wearing dark jeans and a sweater. Not because of her casual attire - Ruby's own stylishly-clad calves were still recovering from the biting cold - but because the sweater was _green_. Well. It was clear whom she was thinking of on Valentine's Day. Honestly, she and Malfoy should cut the romantic tension and _uhmahgod just_ _get together_ _already_!

* * *

Rose smiled smugly at Mark. He was cracking up at one of her mostly-true, elaborately explained, Quidditch anecdotes. It felt really nice, being with a clever guy-friend that she could have a laugh with. Besides Albus, of course, but Albus was her cousin and also not a stunning piece of eye candy.

Mark was, as she had anticipated, the ideal Valentine. He was funny, polite, smart, _gorgeous_, and a Quidditch player to boot. It was probable that the only reason she hadn't thought of dating him sooner was that he had been going out with Julie Bertrand for several months.

He smiled engagingly at Rose across the table. "Hey, Rosie, I know we came here as just friends and all, but . . . I like you."

It was lamely phrased, but Rose found she could forgive those sparkling blue eyes. She giggled, nudging Mark's arm. "Well, yeah! A guy doesn't take a girl to Madame Pudifoot's on Valentine's Day without _liking_ her!"

"So, you feel the same?"

Rose leaned forward slightly, about to give her reply, when the bell over the shop door jangled unexpectedly. She looked up, diverted by the sight of Annabelle Brown giggling and letting in all the cold air as she darted over to Ruby Kumar's table. They could be _so_ annoying, Annabelle more than Ruby.

"The funniest thing!" she said in her rather piercing voice, clearly audible to Rose and Mark a few feet away. "You won't believe it." Her message was impeded somewhat by the gales of laughter that were bubbling out of her.

After attracting the attention and glares of half the patrons, she controlled herself enough to wheeze it out. "Malfoy is . . . someone gave him this potion, and he . . . !" More giggling. She gripped the edge of the table, presumably to keep from actually collapsing of mirth. "He's making out with a statue!"

Rose stood up, a grin tugging at one corner of her mouth and a lump rising contrarily in her throat. She turned to Mark. "This ought to be fun, no?."

"I - sure, let's go see," he said, a brief cloud of disappointment marring his face.

The little group, a triumphant Annabelle followed by Ruby and her date, Rose, Mark, and a few other curious passerby, marched back to the castle. "This way, this way!"

As they crossed the courtyard, Nicky fell in with their group, looking mutinous.

"If that Petracca bast -" She looked around at the eyewitnesses, and her expression cleared. "Petracca was supposed to cure him." she remarked in a neutral tone to Rose. "Whoever spread the news about Malfoy's _accident_ . . ." she trailed off delicately, leaving the gory details to Rose's imagination. Nicky was careful enough about plausible deniability.

"So, it's true?" asked Rose, trying not to sound overly eager.

Her cousin snorted. "Oh, yes."

Rose couldn't keep a gleeful smile from stealing over her face as they rounded a corner to see a thick crowd, seemingly gathered around something. Mark and the others held back, meshing with the rest of the crowd, but Nicky wasn't afraid to utilize her brittle-yet-sharp elbows. She and Rose were at the front shortly.

Malfoy was, indeed making out with the Helga Hufflepuff statue. He was aggressively kissing and licking its face, and his legs were braced around the wide base.

"Helga, oh, Helga, my sweet," he crooned. Several people laughed, though a few were uneasy. The spectacle was just so _bizarre_.

For her part, Rose was deeply amused. The Pygmalion connection wasn't lost on her . . . _Clever Albus, this must have been his plan!_ she marvelled. It was brilliant. It was elegant. It was Weasley-esque in the extreme. And yet . . .

As she continued to stare, Rose couldn't help admiring Scorpius's evident passion. His tie was slightly loosened, his light hair had gotten mussed somehow, and his expression was fevered. To her acute embarrassment, she felt vaugely aroused.

To increase her sudden humiliation exponentially, she wasn't the only girl who was impressed. Several girls that she knew by sight only were whispering and giggling. One of them, a tall blonde Hufflepuff, was close enough to be overheard by Rose. "_Just watching him is making me a little hot!_" the girl hissed to her friend, who tittered.

Malfoy shifted his attention to Hufflepuff's (not insubstantial) neck, and a shiver of lust moved from Rose's navel down to her toes. Hot, acidic shame followed quickly on the heels of the delicious sensation, and she slipped quietly away before Nicky or anyone else noticed her discomfort.

* * *

It was sick, really, all these students gathered to watch Scorpius degrade himself. Most of them were probably horny, too, judging by some of the whispered comments. Rose was right to leave when she did. It was nice to see that the good little Gryffindor's honor was untarnished yet. She probably thought that Nicky hadn't noticed Rose's subtle exit, but Nicky was more observant than her general uncouthness would suggest.

She found herself wishing that she could slip quietly away like Rose, but Slytherins generally didn't have that capacity. They threw elbows and enjoyed it a bit. Nicky despised attention-seeking narks and disliked involving teachers in strictly un-academic student business, but this all had gone a little too far. It was time to get a professor.

And later, she would make the Petracca bastard suffer.

Also, the mastermind behind the prank would pay. She could find out who. Probably.

Professor Gatlin, the Muggle Studies teacher, was conviently located in the classroom only a short way down the hall from the statue debacle. She adjusted her cat's-eye glasses dubiously and followed Nicky. When she saw the scene, Gatlin seemed to deflate slightly at the prospect of all the logistical nonsense and punishment that she would have to dole out.

"I can take _him_ to the hospital wing, if you could just stun him or something," offered Nicky in what she hoped was a pleasant and helpful tone. The poor teacher just nodded helplessly.

It was quite a trick, levitating Malfoy all the way to the hospital wing, but he was in a Full-Body Bind jinx and couldn't squirm around. Madame Pomfrey sent Nicky to get Professor Slughorn and explain the situation.

After the antidote was sorted out, ("My, my, remarkably strong product, this is," the old Potions master had mused. "I don't think this ought to be available to school children . . . or anyone at all, for that matter . . .") Nicky stayed in the hospital wing with Scorpius. He was, quite understandably, completely and totally crushed.

"I hate my life . . ." he mumbled weakly. "I'm so stupid . . . everyone knows, this is going to be here until I graduate. Probably until I _die_."

"Loads of people do dumb stuff in school, and this isn't even your fault," said Nicky bracingly. "It'll blow over."

"But, it's so _embarrassing_," he moaned, burying his face in the pillow.

"Look, if Pomfrey would let me, I'd bring you a bottle of firewhiskey and you'd be feeling loads better in no time," she assured him. "I promise, we'll get properly stoned as soon as you're feeling well enough."

"That won't change anything."

"No? We'll see. A touch of firewhiskey always makes _me_ feel better."

He sat up hopefully. "You know what would make me feel better? Revenge."

"Already on it, dear. Petracca is going to pay for making the potion and also not helping me cure you. From her I'll find out who bought the potion and things will start to get interesting."

The pale boy smiled wanly, the light of classic revenge in his eyes. "I feel a little better already."

* * *

Victrola chuckled darkly to herself as she watched the caretaker grudgingly scrub the saliva off the ancient statue. The Muggle Studies professor had dispersed the crowd with unformed threats of detention, but this was an event that was probably branded in their memories forever. Victrola didn't usually stay around to enjoy the results of her handiwork, but this had been _priceless_. The Potter boy was sharper than he looked.

He had been smart to keep his distance from the scene. Nothing diverted suspicion like a good alibi. Hopefully he had gone to Hogsmeade with some friends, that would be the most airtight plan. Victrola walked out onto the freezing grounds, her black cloak billowing in a suspiciously batlike fashion behind her.

As far as her own alibi went . . . well, she had never needed one in the past, had she? Sure, all the nastiest potions that surfaced at Hogwarts were rather easily traced back to her, but she was skilled at dueling. And covering her tracks. A few sixth-year Slytherin brats with ruffled feathers shouldn't be a problem.

Well, there _was_ Malfoy's bitchy girlfriend, the gingerish-blondish Weasley. She was rather infamous for her hexing capabilities, and a Slytherin to boot. Honestly, she had been so rude earlier, _demanding_ an antidote. _Surprisingly_, a little common courtesy tended to go a long way with Victrola. Most of the younger students (and a few in her year) treated her with the fear and disgust of a Muggle encountering a venemous adder, and it got boring.

The Potter boy was polite. He was also clever (for a little Gryffindor bastard), and easy on the eyes. Victrola found she had taken quite a shine to the Potter boy.

"Hey, you!"

_Ah, the Slytherin-Weasley_.

"What?" snapped Victrola, reaching for her wand.

The other girl pulled hers out to dueling height.

Victrola let her eyes dart around, scoping out the scene. They were near the Quidditch pitch, standing in a few inches of white powder. There were some students a few hundred feet away, returning from Hogsmeade, but no teachers.

"You already admitted to making that _vile_ potion."

"I did make that vile potion."

The girl's blue eyes narrowed, and she started treading slowly sideways, evidently intending to circle Victrola. Victrola rolled her eyes.

"Ooh, let me guess, if I tell you who bought it, you'll let me trip on my merry way," she theorized drily. "If not, you'll hex me into a million slimy little pieces. Correct?"

"That's right."

The older girl considered hexing and running, but then she would just have to deal with the consequences later. By her calculations, Malfoy should be recovering from his little _infatuation_ shortly. She smirked.

"I don't want to tell you," she drawled.

"Then, we duel."

"Wait." Victrola's dark eyes narrowed gleefully as she remembered something. "Weasleys are a clannish lot, yes?"

"Er." Taken aback, the Weasley girl let her concentration waver slightly. "You could say that, yeah."

Potter's mother was a Weasley.

"It was Potter."

Well, that had given the little chit something to think about. She couldn't take on her own Weasley cousin in an honor duel. Probably she would tell Malfoy, but Victrola had faith in Potter. Besides which, Malfoy somehow seemed too cowardly for a classic duel.

* * *

Albus crunched through the snow, glad to be returning to the castle. Hogsmeade had been simply overrun with happy couples. Ew.

He saw Nicky standing near the Quidditch pitch and went over to say hello. She would be irate over the Malfoy incident, and Albus would act surprised and innocent. There was someone with her. It was . . . Petracca?

As he approached them, he noticed with a shiver of dread that both witches were in dueling position.

At the same moment, he saw Malfoy making his way towards them. He ignored Albus completely and started talking urgently to Nicky. They both looked over at him, and Petracca folded her arms.

Finally Albus reached their group, only to be greeted by Malfoy's fist. He was agile enough to dodge, and Malfoy stumbled.

"You piece of shit!" he roared.

"You deserved it," said Albus evenly, reaching for his wand.

"What the fuck?! What did I do to deserve _that_?!" He send a jet of purple light at Albus, who dodged again.

"You seriously don't know?" said Albus. "_Expelliarmus_!"

"_Protego!_ Trying to use Daddy's signature spell?" sneered Malfoy. "You're worthless."

A spike of white-hot anger shot through Albus. "Leave my dad out of this, tosser! You're pathetic!"

"Oh, _I'm_ the pathetic one? You can hardly go anywhere without Cousin Weasley to hold your hand! Are the rumors true, Potter, about your true _feelings_ for her?"

Albus's brow knitted in confusion. There were no actual rumors like that. Where was Malfoy getting this shit?

"I don't know what you're talking about. It's bloody obvious that -"

"_You ruined my life!"_ screeched Malfoy, forgetting his wand entirely.

_"It's because of Rose!" _Albus bellowed, not caring who heard him. "You are such an indescribable _git_ to her, I can't even! You push her buttons again and again, for what? Some sort of sadistic satisfaction? And," his face reddened with sympathetic shame for his cousin, "she _likes _you, you bloody idiot! I don't know why or how, but some deep down part of her is still hurt every single time you make fun of her, or say her face is weird, or whatever! You know what I think, Malfoy? I think that subconsciously you _know_ that, and that's why you tease her so much. You _enjoy_ hurting her. Is it such a surprise that I took a little revenge?"

Malfoy was frozen on the spot. Albus had expected anger, denial, some sort of retort. What he was not prepared for was the naked shock on the other boy's face. He had gone even paler than usual, and his coin-like grey eyes were vulnerable. Albus might as well have slapped him across the face. A physical hit might even have been a safer alternative to this messy emotional standoff.

"She likes me?" asked Malfoy quietly. Albus didn't want to try to muddle out the conflicting kaleidoscope of feelings in the Slytherin's eyes. Dammit, it was _Rose_ who was supposed to have the guilt-inducing eyes!

"Um, yeah. If you used your tiny mind for anything besides being an asshat, you would have figured it out ages ago."

"Oh," said Malfoy. Very, very quietly. He turned on his heel and walked quickly but unsteadily back in the direction of the castle.

"Merlin knows why!" Albus called after him. He thought about calling him another unsavory name, but it seemed like overkill, so he let Malfoy go.

Albus looked around. It appeared that their little shouting match had drawn a good-sized crowd of spectators. There were about a dozen assorted students, looking disappointed and vaugely mutinous. Apparently they had been expecting a good duel, or at least some nice, old-fashioned Muggle fisticuffs. Most of them, including Nicky, dissipated after Malfoy left, leaving Albus alone with the now-familiar form of Petracca. She started clapping slowly.

"Well done, Potter m'boy."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, somewhat aggressively.

She raised one eyebrow. "Not used to confrontation, eh? I thought you did rather well. Very acidic. Shouldn't have announced your cousin's secret to the world, though."

"Oh . . . right." Shame washed over Albus as he realized his mistake. "I'm sure it'll blow over. She can just deny it, right?"

"Mm. Sure." Petracca rolled her shoulders and stretched, inadvertently (or perhaps intentionally) showing her tiny figure to best advantage. "All this revenge has left me bored by comparison. Fancy a walk by the lake?"

Albus eyed the older girl dubiously. "Er . . . okay."


	4. A Few Kisses

The sun glaring off the snow was hardly a flattering light for Victrola's sallow skin and admittedly oily hair, but she didn't mind right now. She wasn't entirely sure why she had asked Potter to walk with her, but she had.

The Black Lake looked absolutely frigid. The water was the color of iron, and - were those patches of ice forming around the west side?

"I wonder what it would be like to jump in," said Potter. His tone was neutral, but Victrola looked sideways at him to see that his green eyes were glinting mischeivously.

"Is that a threat, Potter?"

"You should call me Albus."

"I'll consider it. Are you going to push me in, or am I going to have to push you?"

"So, one of us has to toss the other into the lake now?"

"I don't know. All I know is that if one or both of us is not soaked in frigid lake water soon enough, I shall consider the day wasted."

"Hm. Well, I don't want to push in you in, but neither do I want to be soaked in frigid lake water."

"That _is_ a problem."

"Seriously, though. I bet you wouldn't, anyway."

"A challenge!" Victrola instantly started removing layers of clothing. She was soon shivering righteously in her Oxford shirt and grey trousers.

Potter's eyes went wide. "You're not really going to -"

* * *

Albus watched, openmouthed, as Petracca launched herself into the lake in a perfect, arching swan dive. He watched the dark water impatiently. If she didn't surface. . .

She surfaced, her hair clinging to her face in inky strands.

"Oh, my god. Are you - ?"

"Cold? Yes." She laughed exuberantly, throwing her arms up and spalshing the edge of Albus's cloak.

"Insane?" he finished. She pursed her lips judiciously.

"That too, I suspect." She leaned back into the water, doing the dead man's float.

Petracca looked a bit like an Inferius, spread out limply against the surface of the water, but she was strangely beautiful too. Her long dark hair fanned around her face in all its glory. Even her skin looked more bronzed than sallow in stark contrast to the steely water.

Her eyes flickedered open, and she smirked when she caught Albus staring at her. "Am I a pretty snow angel?"

Albus snorted. "Hardly."

She pinwheeled her arms, evidently emulating a snow angel. Albus laughed

Petracca sank into the dark water, then resurfaced with a dramatic splash, effectively soaking Albus.

"Hey!"

"Oh, sorry, luv, did I ruin your pretty cloak?"

"It's cold," he protested.

"Damn right, it's cold. Help me out, would you."

She extended a hand, and Albus took it without thinking. Petracca pulled his arm sharply, and his stomach twisted horribly as he was submerged in freezing water.

He had to kick quite a bit to drag himself above the surface, as his heavy cloak kept pulling him down. He shook his head vigorously to get the wet hair out of his eyes.

"Dammit, Petracca!" he roared.

She laughed, treading water. "Bloody Gryffindor chivalry, you had it coming!"

Albus unfastened the dragging cloak and watched in dismay as it sank slowly into the depths of the lake.

"No, no, no! That was my only winter cloak!"

Petracca had the decency to look slightly abashed, but there was still a sinister gleam in her eyes.

"My shoes are probably ruined, too," he grumbled. Albus didn't really care about appearances so much, but now his cloak and shoes had both been ruined in one go.

"Sorry," she said cheerily.

"My parents are going to be pissed."

"Ach. I apologized already."

"James is going to -"

"Here, let me show how deeply sorry I am."

She wrapped one arm around his neck and pressed her frozen lips against his.

* * *

Scorpius wanted to scream.

Bullying, whatever. People didn't _bully_ Scorpius, they fought him, and he fought back. It bordered on hurtful at times, but that was simply how the game was played. If you weren't man enough to take it, then you could hide behind the teachers' skirts. Everything was magically deleted the moment they graduated, or that was the way Scorpius saw it. They were just kids. Traumatic moments would become anecdotes at cocktail parties down the road.

This time, though, some intangible line had been crossed. He felt dirty. He felt degraded. Potter had messed with his emotions and his sexuality through that damn potion.

And for what? Rose?

Rose.

It had all just been a game, the teasing. Potter made it sound like he, Scorpius, had been systematically administering emotional abuse.

Yes, their relationship was messed up. Scorpius had taken an instant dislike to her, and she to him, almost before they stepped across the threshold of Hogwarts. They were both smart, passionate kids, and their rivalry was fierce.

Then, in fifth year, Scorpius started to notice things about her. The light in her expressive brown eyes. Her soft, wild red hair. Her laugh. (It also didn't hurt that she had developed breasts over the summer.) He had been encouraged, almost trained to dislike her, so the new development just felt wrong. He tried to push his feelings aside. Scorpius knew emotions, and they brought nothing but pain. Their enmity and teasing suddenly felt very safe compared to what they _might_ have otherwise.

That she might feel the same . . . was a possibility that he had never entertained.

He wanted Rose against his will and against his better judgment, and there was nothing to be done about _that_. Teenagers were teenagers, lust was lust. But he wouldn't fall in love, so he was okay.

Or he would be okay, if Potter hadn't ruined _everything_!

Scorpius's retreat, when he needed to be alone, was the Astronomy Tower. Sure, at night students would stargaze, and occasionally some seventh years would make out, but during daylight hours it was abandoned.

Nicky knew this, and had never bothered him there before. But today was exceptional.

It wasn't that she thought he would try to off himself or anything, but . . . it was probably best if he wasn't left alone for a long period of time.

She paused at the door, then leaned her palm against it, pushing it open a few inches.

Socrpius was curled in the fetal position under the wide, open window. Harsh daylight cast stark shadows over his body, making the scene all the more real. Pain tore at Nicky's throat. She didn't want to, she _shouldn't_, see her friend like this. No one should.

Hadn't the poor kid been exposed enough today?

She slipped quietly away, hoping he hadn't seen her see him.

Shaken, she wandered aimlessly around the school for a while. Today had beeen simply unreal. Poor Scorpius. He would probably associate today with all other Valentine's Days to come.

After hearing Albus's grand little sermon, she understood why he had done it. Whatever else he was, Scorpius was a little piece of shit to Rose. Sexual tension, stupid Quidditch rivalry - whatever it was, it was just bad for everyone involved. Nicky usually just went along with it; Rose seemingly led a charmed life, and it wasn't so bad to see her get her feathers ruffled every so often.

She supposed the conflict had to come to a culmination at some point. It had been terribly public, though.

"Um, are you okay?"

Nicky almost bowled over the concerned citizen in her distracted state. "What?" she snapped.

Her well-meaning assailant was a Gryffindor sixth year, one of Rose's friends. She was a short, slightly chubby Indian girl with curly hair and a perfect Cupid's bow mouth.

"I - I just asked if you were okay."

Nicky straightened her glasses. The girl was _cute_.

"Yeah, why? Do I look frightening?" she teased.

The girl flashed a quick smile. "A bit, yes. You're Rose's cousin, right? Dominique?"

Rose always called her by her full name. "Yes, but almost everyone calls me Nicky."

"Nicky, that's cute." She extended her hand. "I'm Ruby."

"Nice name."

"You're on the Slytherin Quidditch team, right?"

"Yeah, Chaser."

"You must be excited for the match next week."

"We've been practicing a lot. Are you going to the match?"

"Of course! I love Quidditch!" Ruby smiled again.

Nicky wondered if she liked Quidditch _players_ as well.

"You'll be cheering for _my_ team, right?" she said dramatically, striking a pose with one hand on her hip.

The smile vanished. "Er, sorry, no. My boyfriend's in Ravenclaw, see . . ."

_Boy_friend, dammit.

"Oh, sure, I get it. Gryffindors never cheer for Slytherin anyway."

Nicky had meant it as a joke, but she failed to coax another smile from Ruby.

A brunette Gryffindor with curly hair like Ruby's - was that a trend now, curling one's hair? - bounded up to them.

"Oh, my gosh, you're not going to believe this," she gushed, taking Ruby's elbow. "Lysander asked Lily out!"

"Really?" said Ruby, her voice going higher. "I thought he was gay!"

"That's what everyone thought! Come on, we have to go talk to her."

"Lily's my cousin," put in Nicky helpfully. Ruby nodded distractedly in her direction as the other girl all but dragged her away. Ruby's friend completely ignored her.

It was probably for the best. Ruby had a boyfriend. She was almost certainly straight.

Technically, one in ten Hogwarts students was gay, the same statistical likelihood as everywhere else. Most didn't realize it until after they graduated, though. The Wizarding world was even more heteronormative than the Muggle one. Apparently gay rights and general awareness took a backseat to critical issues like magical creature control and goblin diplomacy.

Those who did realize they were gay, like Nicky, almost never came out until they were well away from Hogwarts. Some people would be perfectly understanding, of course, but it was a boarding school for teen witches and wizards. In other words, quite a hostile environment for your average queer wizard.

She hadn't told Scorpius, but it was a near-certainty that he had figured it out already. They steered clear of romantic topics, but her marked lack of interest in dating young men was evident enough.

Her gender-neutral nickname and pixie cut were also indicators, if one believed in stereotypes. The shortened name had been her preferred one for as long as she could remember, but the haircut was deliberate. It was a sort of subtle indicator to any gay girls at Hogwarts who were looking for support - or potentially romance.

That was too much to hope for, though.

* * *

Ruby looked over her shoulder at Nicky as Annabelle led her away. It had been rude of Annabelle to not even acknowledge the Slytherin . . .

Nicky was pretty weird. The word was that she was dating Malfoy, and she had definitely been very distressed by the statue incident, but somehow they didn't seem like a couple. At all.

Maybe it was because Nicky looked like a boy!

Ruby snickered quietly at the thought, but stifled her amusement quickly because it was a mean thought.

Still, though, her hair was really short, and her glasses obscured her pretty eyes. They were really exceptional eyes; Ruby had noticed instantly. Blue, like a postcard of the French Riviera she had seen one time.

"Ruby!"

She looked up to see Zach walking to catch up with them. The girls stopped. Annabelle shot Ruby a look that was equal parts excitement and _knowing_-ness.

"Yes, Zach?"

"Um, it seems like our date was cut a little short. Want to go, like, finish it?" He cringed slightly, having made it sound dirtier than he meant.

"Sure," said Ruby. "Annabelle, do you mind if Zach and I go for a walk?"

"Go on, that's a great idea!" She beamed dazzlingly at both of them.

Zach seemed content to wander around the courtyard, but Ruby was _cold_. She rubbed her arms pointedly. Zach was looking rather seriously at the ground.

"Do -" Her voice broke slightly. "Do you want to go inside?"

"Huh?" He looked up. "Oh, yeah, yeah, sure."

He held open the door to the Great Hall, and Ruby ducked inside self-consciously.

Ruby ransacked her brain for conversation topics as they walked aimlessly along the mostly-empty corridors. She was about to make an inane comment about the weather when Zach stopped abruptly in front of a tapestry featuring some unicorns.

"I really like you, Ruby. You're cute and nice and smart. A little quiet . . . I like you a lot."

She smiled shyly, meeting his blue eyes. "I like you too."

_Right?_

"We've only been on one date . . . but I was wondering if I could . . ." He leaned in and planted a kiss on her mouth.

Ruby's eyes widened, but she didn't pull away. Zach's eyes were closed, and his lips were warm and soft. It was nice.

He pulled back after several seconds, grinning like an idiot.

"Thanks, Ruby."

"For what?"

"For not, like, slapping me or something."

She giggled. "No problem."

It was her first kiss.

It was _nice_, but really, kissing was seriously overrated.

It was just two people touching mouths.

_Boring._

* * *

Potter made a small surprised sound in the back of his throat when Victrola kissed him. It was adorable.

The lake was really very cold, and Victrola was starting to lose feeling in her extremities, but she kept kissing him anyway. She wasn't sure why she had done it in the first place, just as she didn't know why she had decided to take Potter for a swim. Things were just _happening_ today, and it was probably best not to question why.

The kiss wasn't good. Probably because damp kisses weren't hot, especially in frigid water. _Titanic_ was very misleading.

Potter broke away, looking totally nonplussed. A blush started spreading itself patchily across his face. _Adorable_.

"Wh- what -"

"Do you accept my apology?"

"I - yes."

"Good." She swam to the edge of the lake. "Now, I'm getting out before I die of hypothermia."

When they were both safely out of the lake, Potter turned to Victrola, still looking bemused.

"That was a very unorthodox apology."

"I thought you would like it. Was it your first?"

"Apology or kiss?"

"Ha, ha."

"No."

Victrola, suddenly aware of her transparent white shirt, pulled her cloak back on. "Well, now I'm all jealous."

"I bet."

"This is awkward."

"Agreed."

"I'm leaving now."

"Me too."

"I'm walking this way."

"I'll walk the other way, then."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Bye."

"Bye."


End file.
